


Leonard McCoy and Yet Another Bad Day

by mimorjam



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones Hates Space, Gen, Grumpy Bones, Other, Random & Short, bless him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:50:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimorjam/pseuds/mimorjam
Summary: Bones hates space, but contrary to whatever Jim'll tell people, he doesn't hate fun... which is why he agreed to Jim's latest 'team building exercise'. 
 
Typically, it doesn't go to plan....





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just something little I'd like to contribute to the Mcspirk archive - I've read pretty much everything, so I thought I'd give back ~~~ hope y'all enjoy :)

Stupid stupid stupid stupid- 

McCoy threw himself against the trunk of a crusty tree, fighting to suck up as much precious oxygen as possible, before he was forced to carry on running. He whipped his dripping head around, scanning the dense forest for the streaks of colour that were his pursuers. 

A flash of golden yellow caused the doctor to freeze, pressing himself against the tree with the hope that he would somehow blend in. He watched, wide-eyed as the running figure darted across an opening in the canopy and sprinted into deeper cover – completely unaware of Dr McCoy. 

As a personal reward to himself for not screaming at the first sign of danger (again), Leonard decided to assess the damage with a long suffering sigh. 

He’d dropped his gun. 

Of course he had.

His tree offered a grounding presence behind him as he viciously gasped a colourful curse, breathing still alarmingly irregular. 

Leonard remembered the precise moment he’d lost any chance of surviving this damned game – three figures in red had jumped him and Spock, the Vulcan, always criminally fast thinking, had shoved the doctor down onto is arse into some mud and sprinted off in the opposite direction, taking two of the three pursuers with him. After scrambling up onto his feet and breaking into a run, he’d been mad, of course (ridiculous green-blooded pointy bastard, saving his damned life and ruining his trousers in the process, who does he think he is? Racing off into the distance, leaving him to die alone...) but the sound of thundering footfalls and ragged breathing behind him, as well as gunfire, took hold of his entire being. 

He was darting, weaving and attempting wild footwork flourishes to somehow avoid being shot or trip over the malevolent root systems of the large trees that had claimed this planet as their own. Apparently, and he’d be having strong words with his feet later, all his efforts at having both speed and agility were for naught – his boot got caught on a sharp rock that he hadn’t seen and his momentum sent him hurtling down a sheer slope into a dark green river the doctor hadn’t seen before he was hitting its surface. 

It must have been utterly hilarious, for anyone else watching, that is. Arms spread wide, swearing like there was no tomorrow, only weapon out of reach, before both Leonard and the gun splashed into the dirty water. The red runner probably spared him either due to not being able to aim properly for wheezing with laughter or just pity.  
A sharp yelp from too close shocked him out of his bitter recall of when his day went truly sour. He yanked his head away from the tree and ignored all the violently panicked thoughts flooding his erratic mind. The grossly thick water (liquid, really, but he didn’t want to think that the river had been anything other than good old safe H20) was still dripping off his body, predominantly his nose. He pushed his complaining body behind the tree, only to lurch away from it when it began to secrete a strange, sweet smelling liquid. Smears of it started to sizzle away his blue shirt, lightly burning his damp skin. 

McCoy thought himself a dignified man.

The way he started wildly slapping his burning skin as if actual flames had taken him, ripping his shirt off and swearing enough to make Scotty blush, said otherwise. 

The doctor angrily spat on his discarded blue shirt and decided, hell to it, the next person he sees, he’d march over to them and demand that they just shoot him, dammit. 

This entire thing had been Jim’s mad idea, McCoy fought back a tremor as he thought bitterly and stomped away from his least favourite tree ever. He was cold, wet, possibly poisoned and really really pissed off. The damn man-child was probably having the time of his life, running like a madman away from very determined pursuers. He’d be sure to file a complaint, even an unofficial one, against his boyfriend when they all beamed back to safety – if they ever made it back to the Enterprise. 

He really was very very cold without his blue shirt... 

Where was Spock when he needed him? The damn half-Vulcan would be able to identify the alien tree that had fucking singed his shirt, tell him if a very inviting looking cave was a good idea and reassure him as of when this damned escapade was going to be over. 

Dressed only in his standard issue black trousers, sopping wet boots and his ripped, sticky but sweet smelling black undershirt, Dr Leonard McCoy crossed his shivering arms over his chest and sighed once more. Fuck it, the cave was better than being out in the creepy-ass-alien-acid-honey-tree forest. 

The Georgian settled just inside the entrance to the cave, wary of what lurked in the darkness, and drew his knees up to his chest. 

Jim had set the emergency beam-up for nightfall hadn’t he? McCoy sure hoped so.

 

~***~

 

James T Kirk had never felt so alive in his life. 

If Spock had come by the bridge last week and told him that he would be organising a commanding officer’s paintball match on the surface of an uninhabited planet, he would have laughed his First Officer out and accused him of having a better sense of humour than Scotty. But hey, there he was, racing through the dense forest, Sulu and Chekov at his side, leading the Yellow Team. 

Of course, it had taken a lot of sophisticated persuasion (whining), puppy dog eyes, absolutely no sexual bargaining at all and emotional blackmail to get some of the more... hesitant members of the dream team on board. 

Chekov and Sulu had been down since the three of them had come up with the genius idea during lunch; Scotty, Uhura and Jaylah only needed telling that they’d be representing Team Red altogether and they were totally up for it. Nurse Chapel had raised her eyebrows and sighed, but promised to be there if the Captain got the heck out of her Sickbay. She had only been back from her trip to the outer rim, trying her hand at a calmer nursing job, but The Enterprise had a certain siren song that just pulled people back. Back to where they belonged. 

That only left Spock and Bones. It was cheeky, but all Jim needed to do to persuade the Vulcan was slide his fingertips up his wrist and explain, in a low voice, how logical it would be for each team to work together in this way. Bones had kicked, screamed and tried to weasel his way out of it, proclaiming it to be a death trap of disease and danger (just like his view of most things that weren’t mint juleps or his Captain and Vulcan) but as soon as Jim had slyly mentioned that Spock hadn’t put up that much of a fuss, the Georgian, not to be outdone, had ‘risen to the challenge’. 

And boy was Jimmy glad.

The trio in gold all ran in formation at Jaylah and Uhura who were heading east. A burst of red paint balls flew at them, Chekov getting absolutely battered, as the girls fought back, laughter and curses not traveling far due to the density of the thick trunked trees surrounding them. The redshirts were almost honorary yellows with just how much paint now covered them. Competitive at heart, Jim tried to focus on not getting hit (to win, of course) but the joy of simply having childish fun with his space-family was filling him with euphoria. Sulu was cackling, Chekov was squealing and swearing and their Captain was grinning like a man gone mad. It was perfect. But where was that sneaky Vulcan, grumpy doctor and devious nurse? 

As if on cue, a single blue splat landed on Sulu’s right shoulder from behind, all three gold-shirts spinning round to face the new threat. Uhura and Jaylah slipped away swiftly and silently back into the shadows, probably to find out where Scotty had gotten to. A flash of silver-blonde hair and blue uniform dropped from the tangled branches of a tall tree into a graceful landing before shooting off towards the East.

Jim, a commander through and through sent Sulu and Chekov after the nurse-turned-sniper, blood running hot, grin matching his wild hair. This is what adventure felt like, he mused, inspecting his weapon, leaning against a tree. For a man who explores space for a living, Jim really was getting a little too excited by this ‘bonding exercise’ but hey, if everyone was enjoying themselves, where was the harm? 

Jim Kirk did not believe in no win situations, after all. 

The planet he had chosen was actually quite beautiful, in an eerie supremacy of nature kind of way – even with yellow and red paint splats on a few trees. He, Scotty and Spock had agreed that it was the ‘logical choice’ due to the fact that there are no intelligent life-forms that would... misunderstand their games. They had all arranged where each team would start and the ‘emergency beam up’ time as nightfall. All in all, Kirk was pleased with how well he had organised this, even if higher command hadn’t explicitly said he could go ahead with it. 

The Captain was cautiously following his Communications Officer and Engineering Ensign’s footprints in the peat soil and decaying leaves, when he heard a sound that was like music to his ears. 

An unmistakable southern curse, enunciated to perfection and projected across the land with such force of feeling, it could only be Bones. 

Bones fucking up in some way. 

Jim gleefully took off in a run towards the source of the cry; perhaps the Vulcan was with the doctor – double kill. 

Captain Kirk bounded across the leaf carpeted ground, leaping over fallen trees and brushing past feathery shrubbery but came to a sudden halt, almost smacking straight into Scotty. The redshirt’s eyes were like saucers, making the Scotsman resemble a trapped rabbit. 

“Ah-ha!” Kirk levelled his Chief Engineer with the barrel of his paintball gun, read to pepper him with yellow paint splats any second. “Gotcha!”

“Sir,” Scotty wheezed, panic making his hands shake as he lifted them in the interplanetary gesture for surrender, gun pointed at the sky. Scottish accent colouring his words in a familiar shade. “I can tell you only that I wasn’t my fault!”

“Scotty?” The captain kept his gun poised, just in case. He knew, deep down, that Scotty is the worst actor this side of the galaxy, but thinking that he could be playing him gave Jim a sort of comfort. He had no idea what Scott was denying involvement in, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. 

“I was chasing him, nearly had him, and then he just... jumped! I didn’t see it, he just went!” the red shirt planted a hand against a tree, bent over slightly and took very deep breaths. 

“Who jumped? Where? What happened, Scotty,” Jim slung his gun over his shoulder using the thin strap. Suddenly, his brain made sense of it. That shout, the curse, Scotty’s words – Bones. 

“McCoy, sir,” the engineer looked apologetic, scared and strangely wary – as if Jim would lash out at him, or something. 

“Take me there,” the captain flipped open his communicator and buzzed for the doctor. Nothing happened. He tried not to panic. 

Damn, it had all been going so well. 

 

Scotty nodded and took off back the way he came, a little cautious. Jim’s mind firing off worst case scenarios, each one more horrific than the last, so fast he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

This was only supposed to be fun and games, Jim thought. Trust Bones to turn it into everything the CMO fears about space, just to prove himself right, the captain tried to distract himself by pretending to be mad at Bones, but it wasn’t working. 

He focused on staring at Scotty’s back, repeating a mantra of ‘it will all be alright’ in a halfassed attempt at calming himself down, for Bones, for the crew.

 

Scotty skidded to a halt, wildly gesturing to a steep slope, peppered with jagged white rocks and thick roots. The dark, uninviting rapids at the bottom of the dirt slip filled Jim with a crushing sense of sudden, heart clenching despair. 

“Shit,” the captain swore, his Chief Engineer stammering and babbling an account of what had happened, but the only bits that went in were ‘McCoy’ ‘river’ ‘jumped’ ‘missing’. He started a mad dash down the sheer terrain, scrambling down by using roots of trees that seemed to be closing around Scotty. The redshirt suddenly got a very unnerving feeling that he wasn’t welcome and decided to stick close by the gold shirted Captain – game be dammed, this was serious. 

Perhaps the planet was uninhabited for a reason. He hadn’t thought of that – to be fair, none of them had.

“Ach, Captain wait f’me!” the Scotsman followed Kirk at a much more hesitant pace, testing all rocks and footholds thrice before trusting any of them with the weight of his person. 

When Scott reached the foot of the slope – which he’d mentally referred to as an honest to God cliff – he was called to action.

“Scotty, pass me that stick,” Kirk waved a hand out vaguely to his left, never taking his bright eyes from an object being held against a large, powdery, pale yellow rock by the relentless force of water. Once again breathless, this time from the stressful descent, the Chief Engineer followed the command. Jim dipped the tip of the delicate looking branch from a tree that probably wanted them dead, and hooked out what turned out to be a completely ruined but unmistakable paintball firearm. It slid down the stick to come to an abrupt stop at Jim’s hand, splattering his skin with some of the thick algae that had covered the weapon.

He didn’t really need to check, but, in absolute silence, the Captain flicked a switch that caused the magazine to shoot out. Blue paint capsules. 

Without a word to Scotty, the Captain flipped open his communicator and thrust the dirty firearm into the redshirt’s arms. 

“Kirk to Spock,”

“Captain, I had assumed that one of your so called ‘unspoken rules’ for this game would be prohibiting communicator use,” the half Vulcan First Officer of the U.S.S Enterprise answered.

“Spock, is Bones with you?”

“...Not currently...” he sounded suspicious – well, as suspicious as a Vulcan can sound.

“Fun’s over. I need everyone to turn on their comms and- Spock,” Jim had been in this situation more times than he cared to admit, but this time is was, essentially, entirely his fault. It was always hard to tell Spock that he’d lost their doctor. But he was the Captain, dammit. He would find McCoy, win the game for Command and have them all 

“Yes, Jim?” Spock’s tone was softer, dropping the formality he had stuck to - even in the least professional settings possible. 

“I need you here.”

 

~***~

 

Spock was far more practical in panic than Jim; which wasn’t as worrying as it sounds, as Jim was a man who very rarely panicked. He was strong in his convictions and hardly ever crumbled when things looked as if they were heading south, but Bones was missing. Bones. Grumpy, unarmed, probably soaking wet, vulnerable, space hating Bones; all alone in an alien forest with who knew what lurking in the darkness. And it had been Jim’s idea. 

Jim’s idea of fun.

Spock placed a careful hand on his Captain’s sleeve and began to subtly take control of the situation – he would not make Jim appear even the slightest bit weak in front of his crew; James T Kirk is not weak. He’d sent Scotty back up the slope to call in the others to finish the game. They’d all split up into pairs and search high and low for their ship’s surgeon. 

But Jim couldn’t wait for a regroup. He and the Vulcan would check the other side of the river.

Kirk didn’t know just how he would cross the raging rapids, but Spock contributed that they could simply walk round, over some kind of land bridge he had seen further downstream. The presence of Jim’s First Officer had an exceptional calming influence, as if Spock just being there reassured him that Bones would be found and be alright. 

Already, Spock was leading them on the right track, Kirk noticed with a sort of affectionate pride for his Vulcan, as the dark-haired half alien put two lithe fingers to a snapped branch. Classic tracking techniques were taught at a basic level for anyone who wanted them as part of their field work skillset, but everyone knew about Spock’s legendary thirst for knowledge (he’d taken a few weekend classes.)

Was it an overreaction? Calling for an almost full scale manhunt, abandoning their teambuilding exercises to search for the doctor?

“Jim,” Spock took hold of Kirk’s upper arm and steered him toward something he’d spotted with his superior eyesight. A black handprint, similar to a scorch mark, stood out on the chalky bark of the nearest tree. A few paces to the left was a crushed communicator and an unmistakable blue shirt, crumpled, ripped and burnt in places. Jim felt sick, but he bent down to pick it up gingerly all the same, Spock’s hand on his shoulder. He let his posture sink, before turning the fabric, gripping the insignia as if the force of his hand could bring McCoy back to them. 

Medical blues.

As if they needed the confirmation.

The reality, the complete certainty of Bones being in serious danger pushed Jim from panic, to almost detached determination – Captain Mode. 

“Scotty, check in,”

“Ach, nothing, sorry Captain,” the communicator buzzed. 

“Alright, keep looking, Scotty – Kirk out,” 

“We will find him, Jim,” Spock allowed himself a moment of subtle facial expression, before smoothing his features over, dark eyes scanning the forest for any clues as to where their doctor had gone. Jim felt a little guilty for being so weak and not thinking about how the absence of Dr McCoy was affecting Spock. He brushed a hand over his Vulcan’s.

“Yes we will. We’ve won out over worse odds, after all,” he offered Spock a cocky grin, the trademark Kirk SmirkTM. It was true, they had, and this time they had their whole ‘space family’ looking for their missing. It was absolutely possible that Bones was wandering round, shirtless and cold, which meant they’d have to find him soon, before he caught a cold and grumbled about it for the rest of their waking days.

Bones McCoy would be found. 

 

~***~

 

“Doctor McCoy!” 

That damn voice had been calling out for too damn long, the man in question groaned, arms slowly unfolding from around his shivering body, eyes cracking slightly. There was something sickeningly warm and sticky on his skin that definitely wasn’t his own sweat; his entire head felt full of cotton wool, a dull throbbing growing more aggressive with the increasing amount of light attacking his eyes. 

He felt detached, as if his body was a puppet he was idly working into a different position and his consciousness was spread thin, barely covering all the necessary bases. Needless to say, Dr McCoy felt like shit.

“Leonard Bones?”

“Doctor!” 

Two more voices joined the offending noise. His mind fell heavily back into its rightful place like a slab of meat onto hard, very solid stone. McCoy tried moving his legs; they   
twitched but that was the extent of their co-operation. He popped his back just as a third new voice added their shouts, building a heavier force against the inside of his skull. His vision was swimming and it felt like an army of angry Klingons had been set loose in his head – so, in short, Leonard McCoy was mad.

And he’d damn well show it.

“Doctor Mc-“

“What?!” He yelled, voice hoarse and sore, but overall Leonard was proud of the volume he achieved.

“Da!” the Russian voice almost screamed, a yellow blur once again streaking across McCoy’s vision. “Jaylah, I found him!”

Two splattered red-shirts slid into the doctor’s cone of vision. 

“Leonard Bones!”

“I’ll call the Captain,” 

“’ll don’ just stan’ there, dammit,” the southerner waved a stiff arm, immediately prompting one red shirt and the yellow blurry blob to rush to grab him and hoist him upwards. 

His back protested, popping and cracking after being in the same position for god knows how long. 

“Don’t vorry, Doctor,” the cheery voice from before reassured him. The air tasted stale, but the longer he kept his eyes open, the more the fog was clearing from his memory.

“Chekov?” McCoy wheezed, trying to snap his head round to check who the other two people were. His muddled brain provided Uhura and Jaylah as their names, and his own consciousness seemed to tut at him. 

“You’re pale and shivering, Doctor,” Uhura pressed a warm hand to his head, a pleasant change from the icy chill that had set into his bones. “Shit, Chekov, he’s burning up...”

“What it is?” Jaylah asked, holding a hand away from her, fingers splayed, for Uhura to inspect. The thick sap staining her skin smelt dizzyingly foul and prompted the communications officer to quickly yank Chekov away from where he was just about to prod a patch of the stuff on McCoy’s lower arm. “Smells nice,”

“Nice?” Chekov and Uhura asked with equal disbelief, both achieving skull splitting inflection levels.

McCoy groaned.

“Yes,” Jaylah made to sniff the thick fluid, but Uhura wouldn’t let go of her hand. The captain should be there soon, she prayed. 

“Just don’t touch anything else, especially him. Something is definitely wrong here,” Nyota flicked open her communicator. “Uhura to Ki-“

“Bones!” Jim’s unmistakable voice called as the man himself jumped off the slight ridge of rock and sprinted towards his CMO, who was muttering incoherently and flicking his eyes around without really seeing anything. He looked feverish and... for lack of a better term, like crap. 

Spock caught Jim’s stained yellow shirt before he could power his way into their third, but anyone who knew him could see that he was beyond relieved to have found him. 

Leonard looked up, squinted, and blinked thrice before breathing, “Jim?” in a voice that was oddly disbelieving. Spock knelt down next to him and noted the substance with alarm.

“Captain, it is imperative that we relocate Dr McCoy to the laboratories aboard The Enterprise for decontamination,” Spock stood suddenly, ignoring Leonard’s babbling. 

“’e is covered in zis stuff, Keptin,” Chekov had found a powdery stick on the floor and was dipping it into the patch of goo on McCoy’s arm. 

“We think it might be poisoning him, sir,” Uhura frowned.

Chekov’s stick began hissing and popping, the curly haired Ensign squeaked and tossed it away. Jaylah suddenly started wiping the stuff she had on her hand off onto her uniform, which was a really bad idea.

“No one touch it!” Jim barked, faced with the severity of the situation. Of course they’d discovered a new threat. “Christ, Bones,” Jim ran a hand through his hair, if anything, to   
stop himself from reaching out and touching the obviously ill man he loved so much. “Full beam up of all members of the landing party.” 

“I’ll contact Christine and Scotty,” Lt. Uhura nodded, having accepted, like the rest of them, that their game was well a truly over. 

Jim sighed and flipped open his own communicator.

“Kirk to Enterprise.”

 

~***~

 

Leonard McCoy had lived through his fair share of groggy mornings, but this was something else. But at least he was warm and comfortable, not on some godforsaken planet in the freezing cold. 

“Morning sleepy head,”

“Hey Jim,” he sighed, opening his eyes, satisfied with their level of focus. “Spock,”

“Leonard,” the Vulcan’s voice was smooth and soothing. The CMO idly noted that he was no longer in Sickbay, but the Captain’s quarters. 

“How’re you feeling?” Jim pushed spikes of brown hair from Bones’ forehead with tender gentleness. 

“Eh, had worse... and better.”

“Indeed,” Spock quirked his lips, the slight facial display bringing a smile to the weary country doctor. 

“How’s Jaylah?” 

“She’s absolutely fine, Bones. Turns out that sap you rubbed your damn body in disliked you personally. Jaylah was unharmed,” the Captain’s mouth upturned at the edges. 

“Damn trees,” Bones growled. “Sorry I ruined your game, Jim.”

“No, Bones, honestly its fine. I should have factored in the risk of any potentially anti-McCoy life,” the joke did nothing to throw Dr McCoy off the scent of Jim’s ever present, but   
unnecessary guilt. 

“Jim,” his tone was weak but a warning that got through nonetheless. “This is not your fault,”

“Well...” the captain waved a hand, but his doctor and Vulcan knew he’d stubbornly carry the blame of Leonard’s malady at the hands (branches?) of an irritable tree. Kirk nestled himself next to Bones, careful not to move him too much or accidentally sit on him. “Besides, you didn’t ruin it, the game was already technically won,”

“Oh?” Spock’s left eyebrow steadily rose to his hairline.

“Command team delivered critical shots on all three members of Operations, and Chekov got Chapel a few times-“

“Wait one cotton pickin’ minute!” Bones sat up a little straighter, but his limbs were still a little heavier than usual, so he couldn’t really move far. “I shot Scotty before he got me!”

“If I recall, your shirt was splattered with both blue and red paint when I found you,” Spock’s right eyebrow joined its brother when Jim insisted, “I shot first!”

“Ca- Jim, it is impossible to tell-“

“I’m telling you now, Spock, yellow won!”

“Considerin’ the state I ended up in, I think blue should get a... compensatory victory,” Bones settled back into Jim and the pillows.

“Leonard, I disagree, as this would indicate that our team were unable to secure a legitimate victory, which due to Nurse Chapel’s impressive sniping skill, of which I was   
previously unaware, was entirely possible,” Spock sat himself down on Leonard’s other side. McCoy reached out and took both their hands, smirking somewhat drowsily. 

“But Chekov got Christine!”

“After, if I am correct, she shot you all at least once,”

“Sure she nailed us b-“

“But, Jim?”

“But they weren’t critical shots,”

“If that were a relevant scoring point, it should have been relayed to all participants,”

“If that’s your way of saying that I literally just made that rule up right now, then yes, Mr Spock, I did,” Jim grinned brightly, glacier eyes twinkling with their usual mischief. 

“If that is so, then y-“

“The rules stand, Mr Spock,” 

Leonard observed his partners silently, amused but too sleepy to do anything but watch.

“And why is that, Jim?” Spock refused to use the formal tone Jim had addressed him with. 

“Because I am the Captain.”

“That you are, Jim-boy, that you are,” Bones sighed, leant his head against Kirk’s chest and closed his eyes. His captain pressed a gentle touch of his lips to his CMO's forehead. 

Leonard was safe; even if blue team did lose Jim’s game, he felt like a   
winner.

 

No, Leonard ‘Bones’ McCoy did not hate fun.


End file.
